What a great year we had had! A new baby daughter, a job promotion (晋升) for my husband, and a new home were among what we had received. My husband and I were grateful for them. We wanted no gifts for Christmas, because our cups were running over. So my husband and I decided to teach them to learn to share.

After dinner, we talked about doing something special for someone else at Christmas. Our oldest son said, “Why don’t we find a family who needs help and give them presents?”

All of us were excited about the idea. We didn’t know exactly how we find our “Christmas family”, but we did know we wanted to help. The next morning I made calls to friends who might know of someone in need. That evening at dinner I described the family I had found. The father was a repairman but lost his job two weeks before. He hadn’t landed a new job yet. There were three children in the family. The wife gave birth to a new baby, who was the same age as ours. But unluckily, the baby had been taking many tests as doctors tried to determine why she wasn’t developing properly. They had spent almost all their savings on the treatment, with little for daily necessities. They were in great trouble. Of course, they had little hope of having gifts for Christmas.

“Can we give them some of our clothes?” asked our daughter. We all agreed that her idea was good, and so the children ran to their bedrooms and began sorting out the clothes they had outgrown. But my husband and I knew that clothes were not enough.

On Christmas Eve, my family went for holiday shopping.

Then we were off to deliver Christmas gifts to our special family.

Sports are important in our family. Both of our sons were high-school athletes in our town of Verden. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when Lauren announced she was going out for the girls’ basketball team. But I was. At just five feet, one inch tall, our daughter’s lack of height wasn’t my worry. She has Down syndrome (唐氏综合征).

My wife and I never told Lauren that she was different. We treated her like our other children. We didn’t want her to feel disabled or different because she had Down syndrome.

“I’m gonna play basketball, Daddy.” Lauren ran to meet me when I came in from work. She flew into my arms and lingered long in my embrace. Unlike some sixteen-year-olds, Lauren was outwardly affectionate (亲切的).

“That’s nice, honey,” I replied automatically, and patted her shoulder. Walking into the kitchen, I kissed my wife Laura on the cheek. Laura spoke slowly, her tone steady. “What Lauren’s trying to tell you is that she’s joining the girls’ high-school basketball team.”

Just as my wife’s words sunk in, I heard Lauren behind me.

“I’m gonna be a Lady Tiger,” she whooped, skipping into the room and throwing her arms in the air. She raced out of the kitchen to one of her favorite activities, watching cartoons on television. Everything that could happen flashed through my mind. What should we do? Parenting seldom had clear-cut answers, and bringing up a child with a disability was an additional challenge.

Mid-November, the season’s first basketball game arrived. I settled into a seat on the second row with the rest of my family. Before the game, cheerleaders (啦啦队) were running on the court, dancing and jumping. The game got off to a good start, but soon Verden was behind. Even after a rally (反弹) in the second half, I knew the Lady Tigers were certain to lose. Just less than two minutes were left, and Verden was down by seventeen points. Coach called a time-out. The announcer’s voice echoed over the public-address system. “Number thirty-three, Lauren Wray, in for the Lady Tigers.” My heart pounding, I watched wide-eyed. Lauren was in the game.

Lauren kept pace with the others fairly well.

Applause exploded and the thunderous sounds echoed on the court.

It was about ten years ago. It was a cold, wet and dark winter day. A fine rain was falling, which left my clothes wet through and froze my bones. I was walking over to visit my Dad. Although his house was only a short walk from mine, I was already wet and suffering. I knocked on his door and stepped in. A warm steam was floating from the kitchen. It touched my nose and suddenly I was eight years old again. Dad was making Grandma’s special sauce (酱料).

When I was growing up, every Sunday Grandma would make us an Italian feast. She would cook her spaghetti (意大利面) sauce for hours. Then she would drop in potatoes, chicken, meat balls, sausage and sometimes even steak (牛排). It always left our stomachs full, our hearts happy, and the house smelling sweet.

I sat down while Dad made me a plate. It felt so good having a meal like I used to when I was a boy. We talked about those old times and laughed over the memories both good and bad. And I noticed something to. I didn’t feel cold anymore. Oh, my clothes were still wet from the rain but my heart was warm, my spirit was light, and both my face and stomach were smiling.

Dad and Grandma have been gone for years now. I still miss them both every single day. And although my daughter and I both know how to make Grandma’s special sauce, we don’t cook it as often as we can. Maybe it is because no matter how hard I try, I can never get it 100% right. I think that maybe I am missing a material. Or maybe it was just the Love with which Grandma and Dad cooked it that made it so delicious.

I decided to make the food filled with love at last.

I want to give a taste of love to the seniors in the nursing home nearby.